


Four Times Tachibana Makoto Said Good-bye (and One Time He Didn't)

by furiosity



Series: Eternal Summer (Right out of Hand) [11]
Category: Free!
Genre: Episode Tag, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-11
Updated: 2014-09-11
Packaged: 2018-02-17 00:19:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2290037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/furiosity/pseuds/furiosity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story about the relative safety of mental time-travel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Four Times Tachibana Makoto Said Good-bye (and One Time He Didn't)

_one_

Haru's house has stood empty for two days.

Nagisa hasn't heard from him; neither has Rei. Rin's not even in the country: Gou said he's gone to Australia for the week on some kind of invitation from a friend. Makoto has even checked with Kisumi, though Haru holing up at Kisumi's is about as likely as Makoto riding a bicycle to the moon.

On Tuesday morning, Makoto gets a mail from Rin: it's a picture of him and Haru at an aquarium or something like that: there are lots of fish in a tank behind the two. Rin's smiling happily; Haru looks morose. Makoto breathes easier. Rin did say he'd 'think of something' to get Haru to stop hiding from himself. Makoto isn't sure what a trip to Australia will do, but he trusts Rin knows what he's doing. Poor Rin probably assumed that Haru would have let everyone know where he was going: it was only natural to do that, after all. But Rin couldn't have known about what happened on the night of the fireworks festival, with Haru running off mad at everyone.

Haru comes back on Saturday, his eyes newly alight, though when he opens the door and spots Makoto, he looks away.

"I was so worried," Makoto breathes. "I wish you'd left a note or something."

"I didn't ask you to worry," Haru says, turning his back. 

He walks into the house, and Makoto knows he's expected to follow. They will sit down, and Makoto will ask about his trip, and Haru will give monosyllabic answers and look annoyed that he has to suffer all these meddlesome questions, even though he really does want to talk about it. 

_Or maybe he doesn't. Maybe he does think you're just annoying. He just doesn't say so because you might start crying, and that's even worse than all your stupid smiling._

That nasty inner voice has pursued Makoto ever since the fireworks festival, making him doubt every thought he has about Haru. Now that he's seen the disappointed look on Haru's face, for the first time it occurs to him that maybe the voice is right. 

His smile fades away. He slides the door shut and walks slowly home.

The little voice, stronger now, tells him Haru won't even notice Makoto didn't follow him in. And when he does notice, he'll only be relieved.

_two_

He doesn't swim any more: it makes him think of home.

Chlorine evokes memories of sunlight and friendship. Makoto's made lots of friends since moving to Tokyo, and his first summer here the sun shone almost every day. But he's not all that close to any of his new friends, and this morning's forecast called for more snow.

It's been almost a year.

Iwatobi came in second in the national medley relay, Makoto and Haru retired from the swim club, and then it was time for cram schools and mock exams, endless nights and fingernails chewed to a bloody quick. He had the option to join a swim team and get into his school of choice that way, but he didn't want to swim any more. There was no meaning in it.

At first, he and Haru still walked to and from school most days. Not together: just two people going the same way. A few times, Makoto tried to talk, but Haru's responses were sparse, his manner cold. And then Makoto realised that it had always been that way. All that changed was his perspective -- the little voice. It wasn't nasty, after all: Makoto had just been afraid of the truth. After he figured that out, it became easier to smile again. He wasn't about to try and convince Haru to change his mind about anything; not after his last attempt. Eventually, Makoto stopped approaching Haru, who didn't seem to notice.

On graduation day, he offered Haru his hand, and got a limp handshake that lasted about as long as a person would squeeze a giant spider. The last words Makoto said to Haru were _Well, then._

_"Yeah,"_ Haru replied, walking away towards the school gate.

It didn't even hurt that much. It was better than having to say good-bye, really.

_three_

Tokyo gets much colder in winter than Makoto's hometown. Someone in his social studies seminar made the observation that _home_ is a place you belong, and _back home_ is a place you'll never belong again. He wonders how long until Tokyo becomes _home_ and Iwatobi is only _back home_. He hopes it's soon. He's about to get his degree, and then he'll have to decide if he's staying here or moving somewhere else. Not to Iwatobi, though.

A seat opens up, and Makoto's about to grab it -- he's still got nine stops to go, and a quick glance around reveals no elderly people or expectant mothers -- when he spots Haru on the opposite side of the carriage. Haru's looking straight at him, wide-eyed with surprise. The train slows as it enters the station; people jostle past him on their way to the doors, and Makoto lets himself be carried along, not stopping until he's well clear of the train and halfway up the escalator. He's never been here before, but a station is a station is a station -- if he follows the crowd, he'll end up somewhere he can get his bearings. That was one of the first lessons Tokyo taught him years ago.

He finds a relatively clean bench nestled against a convenience store wall next to a vending machine and a bicycle rack. There he sits down, putting his book bag across his knees. Last Makoto heard, Haru was going to a prestigious university far out west, known for turning out Olympic swimmers. Then again, he stopped asking about Haru long ago. So what's Haru doing here? That _was_ Haru; Makoto would recognise him in any crowd, no matter how much time passes. It doesn't really matter, though. This is Tokyo. People can spend their entire lives within a couple of kilometres of each other and die without ever meeting. Odds are he'll never see Haru again.

His hands are freezing. He reaches for his gloves, but because of his bad habit of sticking both in one pocket, they must have fallen out in the escalator crush. Makoto shoves his hands into his coat sleeves and closes his eyes, letting the sounds of the street fill his mind. A nearby pedestrian light jingles, letting visually impaired people know it's okay to cross. A young girl on the phone with someone she doesn't like very much, judging by her tone. Cars roll slowly, noisily through the slush. An old drunk sings out of tune, most lyrics replaced by _la la la_. Haru's voice.

Makoto winces. Listening to the city usually works, but seeing Haru was too huge a shock. He opens his eyes again and finds Haru squatted down in front of him, hugging his knees and looking up into Makoto's face with undisguised curiosity.

"Makoto."

Makoto sighs. "It's been a while." _Did he follow me all the way here? How?_

"Why are you sitting here in the cold?"

"I could ask you the same thing."

"Can we talk?" Haru points to the Lotteria across the street without taking his eyes off Makoto's face.

"I don't think so," Makoto says, rising. Now that Haru is here, it's only a matter of time before the little voice comes back, and true or not, Makoto's long since decided he doesn't like it much. It makes him feel bad about himself. "It was good to see you're doing well."

_four_

"When you said you were going to Tokyo, it broke my heart."

Makoto looks at him, bewildered and frightened -- of how deep it cuts to hear this, of how clearly he still remembers that night, of how much he loves Haru after all the time and energy he's spent trying to stop. "I'm sorry," he offers. "It was a bad time to bring it up."

Haru looks directly at him. "No, it wasn't. The way I was back then, never was going to be the only good time to do it."

Makoto offers an awkward, placating smile. So this is why Haru has pursued him so relentlessly? Because he was still mad about something Makoto said six years ago? "I hope you will forgive me someday."

"I don't want you to apologise," Haru says with a firm shake of his head. "I would have taken it badly even if you tried your hardest to break the news gently. Because I thought of you as a… a fixture. You were always there. The idea of you going somewhere else felt as ridiculous as my grandmother's favourite lampshade suddenly deciding to walk off."

A chill settles deep inside Makoto's chest. "I see," he says. "Thank you for telling me that." It isn't even that this is news; he's always known this -- the little voice told him, and he believed it. He was just so very sure there was nothing Haru could do to hurt him again. But he is grateful, because with this, he finally feels like he can find a future all his own.

"I was wrong!" Haru says, his eyes going wide at the sight of Makoto's no doubt pitiful expression. "I should never have thought of you that way."

Makoto shakes his head. "It was all so long ago, Haru. I'm not that person any more, and neither are you."

"What are you saying?"

"Let's remain strangers from now on, okay?"

_five_

"I was so worried," Makoto breathes. "I wish you'd left a note or something."

"I didn't ask you to worry," Haru says, turning his back. 

He walks into the house, and Makoto knows he's expected to follow. They will sit down, and Makoto will ask about his trip, and Haru will give monosyllabic answers and look annoyed that he has to suffer all these meddlesome questions, even though he really does want to talk about it. 

_Or maybe he doesn't. Maybe he does think you're just annoying. He just doesn't say so because you might start crying, and that's even worse than all your stupid smiling._

That nasty inner voice has pursued Makoto ever since the fireworks festival, making him doubt every thought he has about Haru. Now that he's seen the disappointed look on Haru's face, for the first time it occurs to him that maybe the voice is right. 

His smile fades away. He slides the door shut and walks slowly home.

The little voice, stronger now, tells him Haru won't even notice--

"Makoto!"

Confused, Makoto squints at the stairs ahead, wondering where the voice is coming from. Everything is kind of blurry; he'll need to use some eye drops when he gets home. A hand lands on his shoulder and forces him around.

"Where are you going?" Haru asks. His eyes grow alarmed. "Why are you crying?"

"I'm not--" _Huh? Why are there tears on my face? Why do I feel like I've just lived a lifetime?_ "I'm not sure?"

"I didn't mean to make you worry," Haru says, glaring at his bare feet.

Makoto doesn't think about pulling Haru into his arms; it just kind of happens. After two heartbeats, Haru lifts his arms, gathers fistfuls of Makoto's T-shirt sleeves, and tips his face up to look at him.

"I'll go with you," he says. "To Tokyo or wherever."

Makoto doesn't think about kissing Haru. 

It just kind of happens.

[end]


End file.
